Home is Where the Hair Is
by trixietru
Summary: When Lassiter returns from an undercover assignment, he's sporting an exciting new look.


Title: Home is Where the Hair Is  
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter  
Rating: Barely R-rated, I guess? Basically PG except for a couple of lines near the end.  
Summary: When Lassiter returns from an undercover assignment, he's sporting an exciting new look.  
Author's Note: This was sort of inspired by a couple of requests at the Livejournal Shassie Kink Meme community, but it turned out to be basically the exact opposite of kinky, unless your kink is fluff. The other inspiration for this was, obviously, Tim Omundson's face and follicles.

The station was humming with energy; Shawn could tell something was up the minute he and Gus walked in. Buzz was standing near the front desk with an even goofier then usual smile on his face, so Shawn made a beeline for him to find out what was going on. Putting his hand to his head, he gasped loudly to get Buzz's attention.

"Shawn, are you all right?" Buzz asked worriedly, his smile fading slightly.

"The spirits are more rambunctious than a three year old at a Wiggles concert! They insisted that Gus and I come down here immediately! What's going on?"

The goofy smile returned. "Lassiter's back," Buzz said. ""He's with Detective O'Hara in Chief Vick's office."

Shawn dropped his hand and swung around to look at the Chief's office, but the door and the blinds were shut. "Lassie's back?" he whispered.

"It's been what? Three months?" Gus asked. "I was starting to wonder if he was going to come back at all."

"It's been eleven weeks and five and a half days," Shawn corrected automatically, "and don't be a soggy nacho, Gus, of course he came back. We should go welcome him home."

He had already started towards the office, barely hearing Buzz say that the Chief had said not to disturb them. Lassiter had disappeared eleven weeks and five days previous for what Jules said was a top secret undercover assignment, and much to his frustration, it was so top secret that Shawn had been unable to figure out where he was. It didn't help that Chief Vick kept him and Gus busy enough with cases that he wasn't able to devote the amount of time to looking that he would have otherwise. He suspected that Lassie had been lent out to another city or maybe even a government agency for the assignment, but he couldn't even prove that.

For the first week or two, it was fine. Lassiter was a big boy, he could take care of himself on an assignment, even if he sucked at undercover and would be better off with Shawn there to catch the things he didn't. But as the weeks turned into one month, and then another, Shawn had found himself getting increasingly anxious. Surely they would be told if something had happened to Lassie, if he was hurt or…whatever. Maybe he had won the lottery and retired to Hawaii or something. Maybe aliens had taken him and were probing him, which wouldn't be fair at all since Shawn liked to be the one doing the probing. Maybe he had met a gorgeous, gun-toting hottie and run away to get married to live on a pineapple plantation in the tropics, except that was Shawn's fantasy, not Lassie's. But surely if any of those things had happened, Jules would know, and she claimed every time that Shawn asked her (asked, not _pestered_ , no matter what she said, and he knew that she only said that because she was worried too) that she was as out of the loop as he was.

"Maybe we shouldn't barge in," Gus said, but Shawn had already pushed the door open.

"I'm sure you're ready to go home and get some rest, Carlton," Chief Vick was saying to the man seated in front of her desk, who absolutely, positively, could not be Lassiter because…because… Shawn froze.

"Mr. Spencer, what do you think you're doing?" Vick snapped. "What do you mean coming into my office without knocking?"

"Sorry, Chief," Gus said, when it became apparent that Shawn was only going to continue to stare at Lassiter with his mouth hanging open. "Shawn was drawn here by the intense psychic vibrations coming from this room."

"Right," Vick said, just barely refraining from rolling her eyes, "well, as you can see, Detective Lassiter is back, and…"

"Lassie?" Shawn squeaked. "Is that really you?" The question was justified, even if Shawn knew from the first glimpse of bluer-than-blue eyes that it was indeed Lassiter, though it was Lassiter as Shawn had never seen him before. There was the jeans and the casual cotton work shirt for one thing, but that was barely noticeable under the circumstances. A mane of black and silver hair spilled over his shoulders, and the lower half of his face was covered by the most magnificent beard Shawn had ever seen. His fingers itched to touch it.

Lassiter didn't reply; for an instant, the most amazing expression of happiness flickered behind his eyes when he saw Shawn, but it disappeared immediately behind a studied blankness.

"Shawn?" Juliet asked, amused, "are you all right?""

For possibly the first time ever, Shawn found himself unable to reply, but fortunately Gus was there to smooth things over.

"He's performing an intensive psychic reading of Detective Lassiter to ensure that there's no spiritual residue that needs to be cleansed after his undercover assignment."

"He's performing something, all right," Lassiter agreed, eyeing Shawn suspiciously as he sidled closer, still gaping. "Spencer, what are you…OW!"

"Is this real?" Shawn wondered, tugging at the beard. "Huh, I guess it is.""

"Okay," Lassiter said, standing up and pushing Shawn aside, "I think this meeting is officially over, Karen. I haven't seen my own bed in weeks and…stop that!" He batted away Shawn's hand, which was tentatively reaching for the beard again.

"What were you undercover as, anyway?" Gus wondered. "A mountain man? A lumberjack? The Unabomber?""

"It's classified," Lassiter said with a glare. "Anyway, I have an appointment with my barber tomorrow, so you might as well get all of the jokes out of your system now."

"Jokes?" Shawn wondered, barely restraining himself from reaching out to pull on his hair too, in order to make sure that was real as well. "Who could joke about such an awe-inspiring display of hirsute manliness?"

"I could," Gus volunteered cheerfully. "Were you with the Amish, Lassie? Were you pretending to be one of the robots on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland? Or maybe you just got really method at your part-time job at Long John Silvers."

Gus looked to Shawn, expecting him to take up the mantle of joke-telling now that the initial shock had faded, but Shawn was still staring at Lassiter in starry-eyed fascination. Gus shrugged; he could make jokes at Lassiter's expense for both of them. It was just weird that Shawn wasn't joining in.

"Were you with ZZ Top? Sing "Legs" for us, Lassie. Or…oh my god. Are you cosplaying Hagrid? If so, I have some serious notes."

"I don't even know what that means," Lassiter said, baffled.

"All right, Mr. Guster," Chief Vick said, the corners of her mouth twitching as she attempted to maintain her stern expression, "I think that's enough. Carlton, take a few days off to get resettled and come back on Monday so that O'Hara can start catching you up on her current case load. You're all dismissed."

**  
Gus had needed to practically drag Shawn away from the station after Vick dismissed them, with Juliet and Lassiter watching them go, Juliet with a knowing smirk and Lassiter pointedly avoiding him. Back in the Blueberry, Gus had stared at Shawn for a few seconds before shaking his head. "Let's go get some smoothies. You look like someone just slapped you in the face with a fish."

That broke Shawn out of his stupor enough that he looked at Gus with raised eyebrows. "That's a weird thing to say."

Gus shrugged, started the car. "It's how you look."

"How would you even know that? Do you go around slapping people with fishes when I'm not around? We need to talk about this, buddy."

"Yeah, we probably need to talk about something," Gus said, "but not that."

Shawn turned away from Gus's perceptive gaze and looked out the window. "I want a jumbo-sized pineapple and mango smoothie. What about you?"

Gus sighed, but didn't pursue the conversation further. Shawn appreciated that. He felt kind of like he had just been slapped in the face with a fish.

**  
He felt sufficiently recovered later that night to end up at Lassiter's front door, albeit with sweaty palms. He wasn't quite certain was his reception would be, but he knew what he wanted, and he thought maybe he might know what Lassiter wanted too. Taking a deep breath, he knocked.

"Spencer, what are you doing here?" Lassiter asked. He stood in the doorway, still dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing earlier, clearly not about to allow Shawn inside.

"I was thinking about something you said earlier today. It's been weeks since I've seen your bed too," Shawn said, trying to sound confident instead of hopeful. "Though to be honest, not as many weeks as since you've seen it."

"Did you break into my place while I was away?" Lassiter asked, more resigned than angry.

"Only to water your plants," Shawn said quickly, edging closer in the hopes that Lassie would let him in.

"I don't have any plants," Lassiter pointed out, not giving an inch.

"Oh. Then whose plants did I water?" Shawn wondered. He was close enough now that if he just leaned forward a bit he could nuzzle up against the beard. He did exactly that, startling Lassiter into taking a step back, giving Shawn the opportunity to successfully breach the apartment door.

"Spencer, I am unbelievably tired. You should—"

"And I'm unbelievably horny," Shawn interrupted. "I haven't gotten laid in eleven weeks and six days."

Lassiter blinked, frowning. "Are you saying that you haven't been with anyone since the last time you and I…"

"Oh, I've been with lots of people," Shawn said blithely. "I've been to the arcade with Gus, and to crime scenes with Jules and once to the mall with my dad, an experience that will haunt my dreams for the rest of my life, and possibly even after I'm dead. But if you're asking if I've done the dirty do with anyone since you disappeared without a trace for nearly three months, then no."

Openly scowling now, Lassiter said "I didn't disappear without a trace. I've been working. And I didn't expect…I didn't ask you to…"

He seemed to be at a loss for words, which pleased Shawn because he always liked surprising Lassie. It was hard to enjoy it though, because this entire conversation made him uncomfortable. "I know," he said, with a fake casual shrug, "but everyone I met was boring, and your absence caused a, um, psychic disturbance in my atmosphere that made it difficult for me to make new friends. Especially naked friends. But now you're back with this exciting new look that isn't boring at all, and I thought maybe we could have a private welcome home party." The truth was that he had been worried and distracted enough over Lassie's sudden disappearing act that finding new partners to keep his bed warm had been the last thing on his mind. He and Lassiter had never discussed exclusivity, anymore than they had discussed any of the particulars of their sexual relationship, aside from their mutual agreement that it stay out of the police station, away from work, but it would have felt weird to start hooking up with anyone else when he didn't know if Lassie was safe.

And besides, he didn't really want anyone else. He had just wanted Lassie back.

While they were talking, he had managed to work himself into the apartment deep enough that Lassiter couldn't easily push him out the door anymore. His next goal was to get close enough to Lassie again that he could find out if his hair was as soft as it looked.

Lassiter still seemed confused, which Shawn thought was adorable, as well as being advantageous, because it allowed him to cast a quick look around the room to see what sort of excitement he was getting up to on his first night back home. Dramatically, he raised his hand to his temple and closed his eyes.

"I'm sensing that you deserve a better homecoming than sorting through three months worth of junk mail and watching old episodes of _Criminal Minds_. If you really want to spend your time with a brilliant crimesolver named Spencer, you should do it with the one standing right in front of you."

"Knock it off," Lassiter growled, smacking his hand away from his head. Shawn opened his eyes and grinned, because Lassie already getting physical with him meant that things were escalating nicely.

"Are you sure that's what you want? I'm also sensing that you missed my amazing psychic visions while you were gone."

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "As if I needed more proof that you are absolutely in no way psychic."

"Come on, I know you had to miss me a little bit, didn't you? An itty bitty bit at least. If not me, then at least the things I can do."

"I definitely did not miss you flailing around like an idiot and bullshitting your way through crime scenes," Lassiter said, "and I didn't miss the way that when you're watching TV you only shut up during the commercials, or the way that you hog all the covers in bed either."

Shawn would have been hurt by this if he believed any of the nonsense coming from Lassiter's mouth, but Lassie was a terrible liar. More telling than what he was saying was the way that he had somehow moved so close that Shawn could feel the heat coming off of him, and the way that Lassiter's gaze kept dropping to his lips, like he was remembering all of the very pleasant things that Shawn's mouth had done for him in the past.

"Everyone knows the commercials are the best part, Lassie. And sleeping without blankets is character building. I have plenty of character, but you…" he trailed off apologetically. "I'm doing you a favor when I steal those blankets. Anyway, those aren't the things that I can do that I was talking about." He reached out to brush his hand against Lassie's shirt. It was getting more difficult to focus on bantery small talk when Lassiter was warm and alive and finally here again, home again, where Shawn could touch him and annoy him and solve cases for him and snuggle up to him and make sure that he wasn't in any danger.

And kiss him. Shawn tightened his fingers into the soft material of Lassiter's shirt and stretched up to do exactly that, but before he could complete the action Lassie grabbed his wrists and pushed him against the wall, pinning him there. Shawn was breathing harder now, trying to keep his excitement reined in, because hoo boy, this was exactly what he had been missing for the last eleven weeks and six days, only with the added element of Lassiter looming over him like a sexy pirate, minus the parrot and scurvy. The hair and beard made him look almost like a stranger, and Shawn felt the same happy-scared-excited flutter of anticipation bouncing around in his stomach now as he had the first time Lassiter had pushed him against a wall and kissed him senseless.

Lassiter didn't kiss him, though. Instead he frowned down at Shawn, who tested the strength of Lassie's grip on him by wiggling restlessly. "You really didn't…for nearly three months?"

"I don't know whether to be insulted that you think I can't keep it in my pants, or flattered that you think that I've never gone through a longer dry spell than this." Lassiter's grip was firm, not enough to leave bruises, but enough that Shawn couldn't free himself without a struggle (telling Lassie to let him go would probably also work, but Shawn wasn't about to do anything so idiotic). He thought he might enjoy this position even more if he were pinned to something more comfortable, like, say, a bed, but at the same time he wasn't about to disparage a good solid wall. Walls had always been like a third, silent partner in Lassiter and Shawn's relationship. "What about you? Did you get freaky with any of your fellow Medieval Times co-workers?"

"Of course not. I was working," Lassiter growled. "Not at Medieval Times," he added, just in case there was any confusion about that.

Shawn nodded understandingly, thinking back to the report that had been open on Chief Vick's desk that afternoon. "I know. Probably not a lot of good options to sex up in the militant anti-government group you were undercover with, huh?"

Lassiter's eyes narrowed and his grip on Shawn's wrists tightened. "How did you…don't you dare try and tell me that the spirits told you that."

"Why bother saying what we both know is true? Anyway, my point is that you have to be as ready to rumble as I am."

Even with that persuasive argument, Lassiter didn't give any ground, though at least he also didn't let Shawn go. "That makes it sound like we're about to wrestle."

"Aren't we? You were the one who wrestled in high school. Isn't it just an excuse to engage in groping and full body contact with guys wearing tight spangly underwear? Not that my underwear is-"

"Shut it," Lassiter ordered, glaring. The beard somehow made his glares more intimidating, enough so that Shawn actually did shut up for a moment because he had to remind himself that it was still his cranky, cuddly Lassiebear underneath the hair. Somehow, even that cognitive dissonance was hot, and he squirmed again, wanting a little of that full body contact for himself.

"Come onnnnn," he whined. "I wanna frick frack, Lassiewhack, so give your Shawn a bo-"

Lassiter kissed him, probably more to shut him up than for any other reason, but Shawn wasn't particularly concerned with his motives at the moment. A quiver of pleasure ran through him at the first brush of Lassiter's mouth against his, the whiskers tickling, making him bite back a giddy giggle, but the urge to laugh vanished as Lassie kissed him harder, with an urgency that suggested that he had missed Shawn after all.

It took him a minute or so to realize that Lassiter had released his wrists, that his hands were against Shawn's face, holding him there like he was afraid that Shawn might back away. Silly Lassie. Shawn took the opportunity to do what he'd been dying to do all day and slid his own hands up Lassiter's shoulders and into his thick mane of hair, which was exactly as soft as it looked. He gave an experimental tug and was rewarded with a startled moan.

"I'm going to have such a raging case of beard burn tomorrow," Shawn said breathlessly, as Lassiter's mouth worked along his jaw, to the spot right under his ear that made him gasp, made him thrust desperately against Lassiter's hip.

"Serves you right," Lassiter mumbled against his skin, "all the times I've had to put up with your weakass stubble."

"Hey, my stubble is a manly statement of, uh…manliness…or something," Shawn stammered, his train of thought derailing in a spectacular way as Lassiter reached down to stroke him through his jeans.

"Thought you'd be mad," Lassiter said, kissing his collarbone, and Shawn felt an unfamiliar squeeze around his heart. He had been pissed off for the first few days, weeks even, but…

"Worried," he admitted, because it was finally safe to say that now, now that he was pulling Lassiter's mouth back to his, gripping the thick, silky hair like it was a lifeline and reveling in every bristly scratch of whiskers against his face.

Shawn woke up in a jumble of blankets, a warm weight against his back and the memory of the night before fresh in his mind. Not that he thought he would ever forget the sight of Lassiter's mouth wrapped around him, the way the beard had felt scraping against his thighs, the way Lassiter had reacted to the sensation of Shawn pulling his hair…yeah, with that thought his morning wood had officially reached redwood status. He shifted, rolled over just enough that he could see Lassie, and pressed up against him.

"You're insatiable," Lassiter said, his voice rough with sleep, his eyes still closed.

Shawn reached under the covers for what he had already felt against his hip when he woke up, and smiled at Lassie's pleased sigh when Shawn rubbed his palm across the head of his dick. "Look who's talking."

"Yeah, well, it's been three months for me too, you know," Lassiter said, as Shawn reached with his free hand to run his fingers through that thick salt-and-pepper hair again, still fascinated with the way it unexpectedly suited Lassiter.

"You should cancel that appointment with your barber and keep this," he said, smirking at the way that when he pulled on the strands, Lassiter thrust more insistently against him.

"I can't go back to work looking like an unkempt hippie." Lassiter snorted, which was funny when it turned into a moan as Shawn slid his hand down the length of him and then back up again.

"Trust me, Lass, you do not look like a hippie. You look as hot as Gus's five-alarm chili." He moved forward for a kiss, because if these were the last few hours he got to spend with the beard then he intended to take full advantage, but paused at Lassiter's expression. Given what Shawn was doing to him under the blankets, he definitely should not have been scowling the way that he was.

"What's wrong?"

"Is my face really so terrible that you prefer it covered with hair?"

This question was so patently ridiculous that Shawn was caught between laughing at the absurdity and pulling Lassie in for a hug. He settled for kissing the tip of his nose. "I lo- I mean, I like your face. It has the proper number of holes and everything. This-" he brushed his hand across the beard for emphasis "-just took me by surprise, is all, and it's hard to surprise me. I like it sometimes."

Lassiter still looked suspicious, but at least allowed Shawn to kiss him, which led to renewed enthusiasm over what was happening under the covers, which led to Shawn, sated and sleepy some time later with his head resting on Lassie's shoulder.

"You know," he said carefully, "I have nothing but appreciation for a free-wheelin' lifestyle that allows you to leave town on a moment's notice. But I…Santa Barbara missed you."

From the position he was in, he couldn't see Lassiter's expression, but he sounded equally cautious. "Is that a fact?"

"Yeah, man. The, um, jaywalking is out of control."

"Jaywalking is a serious crime, Spencer. People can get hurt."

"I know! Gus almost hit a guy just last week. He needed to eat a double order of fries quatro queso dos fritos before he was calm enough to drive again. And it's not just crime; the standards at the station have gotten really slack without you there. Dobson never wears ties anymore, can you believe that?"

"Said by a man who doesn't even own a tie."

"I own a tie," Shawn said indignantly. "But I wouldn't want to mess it up by wearing it. My point is, things have gone to hell without you around. You probably shouldn't go anywhere else for a while, just to get things back on track here."

Lassiter was quiet for a moment, idly stroking a hand against Shawn's stomach. "The assignment wasn't supposed to last for so long," he said finally. "It was only supposed to be a week, maybe two at the most. But I had the opportunity to get in deeper with those scum-sucking traitors and put an end to their operation, and…"

"Sweet justice had to be served," Shawn agreed.

"I wanted to tell you and O'Hara before I left, but Chief Vick and I were working in coordination with the FBI, and we were ordered not to talk to anyone about it."

Shawn's heart did a quick flip-flop at Lassiter's words; he hadn't expected to hear that Lassie had wanted to tell him that he was leaving town, going undercover. So much of their relationship, both before and after the sexytimes between them had been established, had been predicated on Lassie trying to keep information regarding anything police-related away from him that this was new territory.

"Vick kept throwing cases at me and Gus. It took me a while to figure out that she was trying to keep me from investigating where you had gone."

"I know. That was my idea." Lassiter sounded smug. Shawn pinched him in retaliation.

"There's only one thing left that I need to know," Shawn said, sitting up so that he could face Lassiter, "and I can't stress enough how important it is, or how much the future of our, uh, affiliation depends on your honesty here."

Lassiter was wary now, his eyebrows drawn together with concern, his shoulders tense with expectation. Shawn reached out and tangled his fingers into the thick, silky tresses of hair spread across the pillow. "Tell me the truth, Lassie: What kind of conditioner do you use? Because it's fucking amazing."

Lassiter stared at him suspiciously before rolling his eyes. "You're an idiot, Spencer," he said, but that didn't seem to bother him as he pulled Shawn down for a kiss.


End file.
